


Always Something There to Remind Me

by writingandrelaxing



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Academy Era, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Dating, F/M, First Kiss, Friendship, Kree Monolith, Missing Scene, Pining, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22154095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandrelaxing/pseuds/writingandrelaxing
Summary: Five times Fitz couldn’t get over Jemma Simmons and one time he realized he didn’t need to. With the cosmos seemingly aligned against Fitz, getting over Simmons seemed to be the way to go, but over and over again, he learned it wasn't that easy.
Relationships: Leo Fitz & Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie, Leo Fitz & Bobbi Morse, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	1. "Well how can I forget you girl...when there is always something there to remind me"

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first post on this website, though I have been reading all of your lovely works for a while. I will post the rest of the chapters over the next couple weeks. I hope you enjoy it!

_A_ _t the Academy around the e_ _nd of the first semester of their final year_...

“It’s just a date. It’s not like I’ve promised to marry him and bear his children.” Simmons gave an exasperated sigh. She and Fitz were in his room comparing answers for an Advanced Biomaterials Engineering for Extreme Environments problem set. Despite the name, the assignment did not require extreme effort. Given the ease with which they had both breezed through the homework, Fitz had considered putting an episode of Dr. Who on in the background while they checked over their work. It seemed that Jemma was similarly unconcerned, but she had decided to use the time to mention her upcoming night out.

“I just don’t understand what you see in that cabbage head. Normally, you make more sense to me than anyone else, but I’m just not following this time.” Fitz bit back other snide comments he could have made. Jemma was pursing her lips in what he took to be a sign of mild frustration as she conversed with him while trailing the cap of her pen down a page of her assignment, which she was comparing to one of his pages. This Friday Simmons would be going on a date with Tad Milton of all people. Milton. Tad Milton. A mutual acquaintance, Milton’s conversation skills were about as interesting as his name.

“How well do you even know him? **”** Fitz questioned and felt his jaw tightening. Though his problem set had been flawless so far, he was beginning to feel like an idiot. He had truly thought there was a chance Jemma was interested in him, but Milton was the most recent example that her taste leaned more toward well-muscled, jock-esque, decidedly boring men.

**“** He’s a nice guy. We both like biology. He’s good looking. I happen to disagree with your assertion that his head resembles any type of cruciferous vegetable. And, he’s interested. There is no good reason I shouldn’t give him a shot.” Simmons rolled her eyes and flipped to the next page in her notebook. “Can I see your next page of work?”

Fitz scanned the pile of loose leaf paper in front of him for his next page and shuffled through the pages when he couldn’t find it at first. He noticed Jemma rolling her eyes at him, but he knew she wouldn’t say anything at this point. Simmons’ attempts to help him organize his thoughts were often met with success, but her efforts to turn him into an organized human being came to naught.

“Well, when he bores you to death, I’ll be here to revive you with a movie marathon and actual stimulating conversation. I just don’t need to hear all about your date. You are the one who jumped at what can only be equated to an invitation to watch paint dry. But not paint making a mural or a beautiful painting. No, you are going to stare at the wall that your mom just painted eggshell because she wasn’t feeling frosted white anymore. You are going to...”

He was interrupted when a pillow hit his face. “Ugh Fitz! I get it. At least I have a date. I haven’t exactly seen you make a move on Abigail. Her flirting is downright shameful. ‘Oh Fitz did you drop this conveniently placed pen that I am now going to pick up right in front of you. No? Oh well, at least I can still bat my eyelashes at you’. She’s smart and pretty and clearly into you, but you still haven’t made a move.”

Fitz would have been more offended if he wasn’t busy laughing at Simmon’s pathetic attempt at a flirty American accent as she tried to mock Abigail. “Ha ha. You’re hilarious. Think the exam will be as easy as this assignment?” He changed the subject.

Closing the door behind Jemma as she left, he threw himself down on his bed, so that he was looking at his ceiling. It had been a few hours since their chat about Milton, but he couldn’t get it out of his head. “At least I have a date!” She had sniped. “And it’s not me.” He had lamented in his mind.

He and Jemma were so close that some people had even taken to calling them Fitzsimmons. She had never seemed bothered by the name, so she clearly didn’t mind being associated with him. It was his own mistake to interpret her acts of friendship as flirtation or hints that she wanted something more. The way her smile beamed as soon as he walked into a room, the way they talked about anything and everything at anytime, and the way she snuggled into the blankets on his bed when they watched the telly were all parts of their friendship. It was certainly true that they weren’t just regular friends. They were best friends, but nothing more. At least that’s how it was in her eyes.

_1 Month Later at the beginning of their last semester at the Academy_...

“What would you like to drink? You can find our drinks menu on the first two pages of our menu.” The waitress gestured and pulled a small notebook out of a surprisingly large pocket in the side of her tropical print skirt. He could practically hear Simmons gushing about the skirt’s pockets in his head. “What I wouldn’t give for a skirt with pockets like that. Or even a pair of pants with pockets like that. Honestly, it’s as though designers think being female makes you allergic to carrying things on your person.”

Abigail ordered a strawberry daquiri and flashed him a small smile with red painted lips. He had only turned twenty-one a few weeks ago, and he probably would have forgotten he was finally old enough to drink in the U.S. if the waitress hadn’t reminded him.He smiled back at Abigail and struggled to think of what to say when the waitress left. Maybe ordering a drink would make this easier.

“I’ll take a rum and coke.” Fitz asked for the first drink he recognized on the page. Sparing another quick glance at Abigail and the waitress, he continued flipping through the rest of the menu, though he was moreso searching for something to say than something to eat.

“So, you like daiquiris?” He asked when their drinks came in an effort to add something to their conversation. Evidently, it was a failed effort. In the time between placing their orders and receiving the drinks, Abigail had done most of the talking. _So you like daiquiris?_ Of all the words in his PhD at 16, rocket-science-doing brain, those were the four that came out. He probably sounded as dull as Milton, who Jemma was out with at the moment. He took a large gulp of his drink and hoped that Abigail was as into him enough to look past his incompetence.

By the third rum and coke, Fitz felt the words flowing out of him easier. Part of him questioned the decision to drink three rum and cokes on a dinner date. He wasn’t a frequent drinker and certainly hadn’t built up any sort of tolerance. At the same time Abigail was on her second margarita following her initial daiquiri. She twirled a few strands of her blonde hair as she gave him a small laugh while he wondered what exactly it was about his discussion of a recent astrophysics article in Nature that she found so funny.

Abigail really was quite pretty. The loose waves of her long blonde tresses hung loosely and seemed to shimmer uniquely in the reflection of the restaurant lights every time she moved. Her green eyes, a similar color to her emerald blouse, had been fixed on Fitz all night. And, she was smart. Not as smart as him or Simmons, but it was hard to find someone who was.

“So I hear you might be graduating this year. Youngest graduate in sci-ops history. How exciting is that?” Abigail leaned toward him and her eyes seemed bright with excitement. She was three years older than him and in her second year.

“Definitely! I could do school all day long, but I don’t love it the way I like building stuff. I know people think Simmons and I are so alike, but I tell you that girl likes homework more than life itself; whereas I can’t wait to be rid of these problem sets. Also, technically Simmons will be the youngest graduate. Only by seventeen days though.” His mind buzzing, he rambled on.

“What kind of assignment do you think you’ll get after you graduate?” She asked and took another bite of her paella.

“Weaver says we are on track to get stationed together at Sci-Ops in Boston. Simmons and I that is.” An alarm in the back of his head sounded. He needed to stop talking about Simmons. Every girl he had dated in the past had eventually developed a problem with how close he and Simmons were. In all fairness, he hadn’t dated that many girls. Still, no sense in instigating a problem that had yet to arise between him and Abigail.

“So, how is the paella? Think you have room for dessert?” He diverted.

“Oh it’s absolutely delicious! Have you ever had any?” Abigail took to his new direction with the same unwavering enthusiasm she had all evening. Before he could answer, she rested her hand on his arm and insisted he try a bite of her dish. Fitz was grateful she cut him off because he had been about to answer “yes” on instinct. It was Jemma’s favorite dish here, and she was the one who had introduced him to the restaurant in the first place. Given the amount of time the and Simmons spent together, it wasn’t all that surprising that he was often reminded of their times together, but that didn’t make it less annoying at the moment.

“Wow that is good.” He replied though in reality he hadn’t been focused enough to process the taste of it. It had been good in the past, and praise seemed to be a safe bet given Abigail’s earlier compliments of the dish. He smiled and swirled the few noodles left on his plate through the puddle of buttery sauce that lined the bottom of his plate.

“It was so good that I ate way too much to be hungry for dessert. I’ll call for a cab back to the square. Walk me home from there?” Fitz realized her hand was still on his arm as she spoke. He nodded and pulled out his card to pay for their food.

He climbed into the cab which was almost pulsating from the music blasting from speakers around the vehicle. Looking forward, he was surprised to see a frail looking old man in the driver’s seat. The loud music normally would have deterred Fitz from trying to make conversation. However, even Beyonce couldn’t quiet Abigail. She continued chattering on about interesting professors and classes. At some point he thought he heard her discussing the Star Wars movies, but she may have just been talking about astronomy. He had to admit he was having a hard time hearing her over the thumping bass, so he smiled and nodded and relaxed as the faint buzz of alcohol continued to relax him.

The frosty air nipped at his cheeks as he stood next to Abigail while she explained the way to her residence. Bright stars were scattered across the sky. With many of the Academy buildings dark on a Friday night, there was little light pollution to dilute the glow. Noticing how close Abigail was standing and the strange looking extra space she was leaving between her arm and her side, he looped his arm through hers. She seemed to take this as a cue to begin walking toward her dorm.

As they passed by the darkened academic buildings, the wind picked up and burned his cheeks. Dammit! Wasn’t alcohol supposed to keep you warm. He was looking forward to getting home, changing into some more comfortable clothes, and curling up with his laptop to watch some mindless television. He just needed his brain to quiet down for a little while.

“Here we are!” The exclamation pulled him back to the present. He walked her up the steps and prepared to wish her goodnight. Her key ring and fob were in her hand, but she wasn’t using them to enter the building. Instead, she was shifting the metal ring through her fingers as though she were feeling for the right key to get in, though they both new that she just needed to scan her fob for entrance. He took a breath and gave her a quick peck on the lips.

She scanned her fob and opened the door. A bright light shined out of the door from the hallway. On a Friday night, the dorms weren’t nearly as darkened as the academic buildings. He could hear some faint music drifting out of the dorm building, but it was mostly quieted by the frequent gusts that were also blowing Abigail’s waves around her face. She stepped inside the doorway and held the door open for him with an expectant look.

“I had a great time tonight! I have to be at lab early in the morning though, so I really ought to get going now.” Fitz quickly excused himself. He stopped himself part way through turning to walk down the steps. “You look really beautiful tonight. I know I must look like a cold, shivering mess after walking in this wind, but the red on your cheeks and the way your hair looks after being tossed about by the wind are truly lovely.” He glanced down at his feet, feeling his cheeks redden and thanking the fact that she probably wouldn’t notice since they were probably already raw. Calling oneself a mess wasn’t exactly the smoothest way to start off a compliment, but at least he tried. He looked up and met her eyes one last time with a small smile before turning to walk down the stairs.

He hurried back to his own dorm room, pulling his hood up in an unsuccessful attempt to block the biting cold. When he reached his dorm room, Fitz shrugged off his coat and threw it over the nearby chair where it immediately slipped downward, so that half of the coat was dragging along the floor. His stiff button-down shirt did nothing in terms of comfort or warmth. The restaurant hadn’t even been that fancy, so the shirt and tie now felt both uncomfortable and unnecessary.

Picking up laundry from around his room and tossing it into a pile, Fitz searched for his Glasgow Rangers sweatshirt. As the pile of laundry grew taller, he groaned at the realization he needed to do laundry. Throwing the pile of clothes into a basket, he lugged the basket to his door. A few white socks had escaped the basket and were now littering the floor. Bending down to grab them, he noticed a spot of blue peeking out from between the wooden floor and where his bedding hung in a tangled knot off the edge of his bed. On his hands and knees, he grabbed onto the scrap of fabric and pulled it towards him in the hope that it was his sweatshirt.

Unfortunately, he was not greeted with a thick, almost woolly, sweatshirt featuring the familiar Rangers logo. Sitting back, he shook out the ball of fabric that was far thinner and more elastic feeling than his sweatshirt. He shook out the object and recognized the Chelsea logo of an athletic quarter-zip Jemma had received from her dad. It wasn’t much of a winter sweatshirt. People always argued that the thin, tight polyester and elastic blend of athletic gear was toasty, but he couldn’t imagine it would keep Jemma “I’m freezing in my jumper on this sunny spring day while everyone else is in shorts” Simmons warm. Tossing the sweatshirt back on his bed, he sent Simmons a quick text before throwing his socks in the basket and making his way to the laundry room.

**F** **itz:** Hey! Have you seen my Rangers sweatshirt?

The walk down the hallway was chilly. Apparently an Academy full of geniuses could solve actual rocket science, but they couldn’t figure out how to properly insulate a building. He quickly shut the door behind him as he reentered his marginally warmer room and felt his phone buzzed as he walked toward his closet to find a warm jumper. Knowing that she was spending the night out, he was surprised Simmons had responded so quickly. He read her message with a sigh.

**Simmons:** Oh. You let me borrow it when I got cold the other day. When I got back to my room, I realized I was still wearing it. It’s just so warm and cozy.

Fitz looked over at the Chelsea sweatshirt and had to agree that his own sweatshirt was farm more comfortable. That didn’t mean that she could just keep his sweatshirt though. He shook his head and replied to her message.

**Fitz:** Maybe if you didn’t wear those thin, barely more than a t-shirt jackets you wouldn’t have to steal mine.

**Simmons:** Wait! Did you find my Chelsea pull-over? I’ve been looking for that.

Once again, it was as though she had read his mind. On the bright side, she had just presented him with a new opportunity. He snapped a picture of her Chelsea quarter-zip and sent it alongside his next text.

**F** **itz:** Here it is...being held hostage until the return of my Rangers sweatshirt. I suggest you pay up.

**Simmons:** Better idea. You keep that and we will call it even.

**Fitz:** This isn’t even in the same class as my sweatshirt, and I’m not even talking about the disgraceful Chelsea logo. This stretchy elastic wouldn’t keep a person warm in May.

**Simmons:** Oh Fitz, you have never even worn it. I am absolutely sure it would keep you plenty warm. And, the shades of blue are almost the same. Don’t worry, it will still bring out your eyes.

**Fitz:** Couldn’t try this tiny thing on if I wanted to.

Fitz could feel his cheeks turning red again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. Realizing that he set himself up for more teasing, he sent another quick reply. Sometimes she could be so difficult.

**Fitz:** Which I don’t!

**Simmons:** Honestly Fitz, it’s a little big on me and so stretchy. It might be a little tight, but given the way she looks at you, Abigail would likely be quite into that.

Blushing even more, Fitz felt the same queasiness that seemed to hit him whenever Simmons talked about Abigail or any of the other girls she had tried to set Fitz up with lately. At first, he had been afraid Simmons had started pressing him to date more because she had realized he was interested in her and needed to distract him. However, when he grumped at her recent obsession, she responded that “He was 21 and she was almost there. People were finally sort of looking at them as adults in America and they needed to embrace it.”

He decided her advice was fair enough and might help him get over his little crush on her. They would be moving to Sci-Ops soon to continue on as partners and best friends. His feelings would only make things more complicated for the both of them. Adults didn’t get hung up on one person. They met new people, went on dates for fun, and kept their minds open. Confident that he was taking a mature approach, he had asked out Abigail the following day.

Yet, now he was here blushing over the mildly (if that), certainly accidental suggestive comments Jemma was making over text. Throwing on a worn tan jumper with a stripe of brown and dark green argyle across the chest, he climbed onto his bed and looked up at his ceiling. He probably shouldn’t have put it on for risk of falling asleep in it, but it was so old that he didn’t wear it out often. Picking up his phone, he typed out a reply that ignored her harassment.

**Fitz:** I suggest you give it back or next time you’re complaining about being cold, I might just let you freeze.

**Simmons:** You wouldn’t dare

**Fitz:** Do you really want to find out?

He waited for her next response, but the next minute remained silent. It seemed that ever since he realized he needed to move past his crush on Simmons he thought about it more often. So many things reminded him of Simmons that she was already on his mind most of the time, and with the conscious effort to move past his feelings, it made sense that they kept arising as well.

He looked over at the picture of space on his wall. Ironically, he found the image grounding. Normally people sought out their immediate surroundings to get their feet back on the ground so to speak, but he preferred to think about how lucky he was to be a part of such an amazing and mysterious universe. The snapshot alone, an infinitely small piece of the universe, featured thousands of stars swirling around each other making intricate galaxies full dance together as they whispered secrets that Earth was not yet privy to.

In the grand scheme of things, it seemed silly to be that worried about feeling a little hung up on one girl. He just needed to focus on the strength of their friendship and forget the images his mind had conjured when he thought their friendship had the potential to turn into something more. Checking out his phone, he saw that there was still no response from Simmons.

He scrolled down to Abigail’s name and began brainstorming something to send her. She had seemed to enjoy the evening. She laughed at his jokes and listened to him speak even awkward was the only accurate description for the small talk he had engaged in before the slight buzz had helped him loosen up. He had been too caught up in his own head to really test how well they clicked. An outing to somewhere more interactive like a bookstore or museum would help him shake off some of his awkwardness and give him the chance to actually test out the waters. Decision made, he typed out a message and received a reply a few minutes later.

**F** **itz:** I had a really nice time tonight. How about you?

**Abigail:** Me too! It was nice to get a chance to see you in something other than a sweater. Collared shirts are a good look on you.

**F** **itz:** You looked great as well! Have you ever been to the bookstore downtown?

First of all, he wore collared shirts plenty of the time. Sure, they weren’t pressed and were mostly plaid, but he was Scottish after all. Not to mention, half the time he wore jumpers, he had a collared shirt underneath them anyhow. He liked jumpers even the ratty old one he was wearing at the moment. They were comfortable, and throughout all the unsolicited get-a-girlfriend advice he had received from Simmons, he had never heard her suggest he alter his wardrobe from jumpers. She always said jumpers and cardigans made him look warm and intelligent, and as beat as it was, the sweater he was currently wearing was one of her favorites because it gave him a “classic” look. Whatever that meant.

Bracing his temples with his hand, Fitz groaned loudly as he once again found his mind drifting back to Simmons and the things she said and did that made him want more with her. They shared so much that the signs of her and the feelings she elicited were everywhere. How was he supposed to forget and move on when there would always be something there to remind him.

The buzz of his phone pulled at his attention. As if on cue, Simmons had responded. Upon opening the message he felt his cheeks redden again as he saw the picture of Simmons curled up in his sweatshirt with the first scene of a Jurassic Park movie paused on the screen.

**Simmons:** Spending some time with it before I have to say goodbye. Want to come watch some fake for the sake of entertainment science and tell me how your date went?

While he tried thinking of a response he received a message from Abigail informing him that she did not even know of a local bookstore. Sighing, he invited asked her to go there for coffee sometime next week knowing full well he would be ordering the same tea he ordered every time he went there with Simmons. His forehead wrinkled as he looked back at Jemma’s message. There was no use trying to get her off his mind that night, and he might even get his sweatshirt back if he went to see her. She, however, would not be getting her pullover back until he had his Glasgow Rangers sweatshirt back on his own body. He sent her a quick message and set off toward her room a few floors up.


	2. “I walk along the city streets you used to walk along with me...And every step I take reminds me of just how we used to be”

_Set p_ _ost Season 1_ …

She was staring into the microscope when he walked in. Unable to move, Fitz watched as Jemma tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear and continued her investigatingwhatever fascinating mystery her slides held today. He was wringing his hands together as he fished for the right words. Exhaling a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, Fitz pulled his hands to his sides, but when they wouldn’t remain still, he pushed them into his pockets. Though the position felt unnatural, it gave him the confidence to move forward.

“Good morning Simmons.” He began as he took up a familiar position beside her. While the greeting was simple and perhaps uninteresting, it allowed Jemma to lead the conversation.

“Oh, hello Fitz!” She responded with her typical cheer as she spun to face him. “It’s so good to see you. You sound well?”

The rising tone accompanying her words signaled more than just a question as her thumb began tapping the tips of each finger on the same hand in a nervous tick she’d had as long as Fitz could remember. He opened his mouth to answer her only a moment after she finished her question. “Yeah. I am… have been...”

Fitz quickly shut his mouth, and he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he rested them on his hips as he leaned slightly forward and fixed his eyes on the shiny white floor. He hated making her uncomfortable. Jemma’s footsteps echoed in his ears, and he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth together. A hand on his shoulder forced him to take a deep breath. He reached up to close his hand around hers and hold it to his shoulder as he filled himself with whatever comfort she was willing to offer.

“Take your time. Fitz, it’s alright.” The words were as familiar as the gesture, yet, after two weeks of not hearing the her ministrations, they felt far more meaningful. He pulled his gaze off the floor and moved it toward the lab bench where the day’s work sat. Small electronics of his own design sat in pieces on top of old blue prints and sketches.

Gently pulling her hand loose, Jemma moved beside him. “Is that what you’re working on today? Far more intricate circuitry than before. That’s exciting.”

While it was laughable to classify any of his current work as exciting, the frustration he normally would have expressed at such an inconceivable notion was disregarded. Instead, he was preoccupied with taking in the perfect smile and honey colored flecks in her eyes that had eluded him for the past two weeks. “Yeah. Uh… it’s, um… b-better.”

“Don’t let me distract you now. You know how important it is for you to do this. Besides, there will be plenty of time for catching up later. I’ll put on some tea for lunch.” He returned her smile with one of his own as she spoke.

\---

Fitz walked to the corner of lab where machining tools were kept in search of a soldering iron. It had been a few hours since his conversation with Jemma, and something compelled him to attempt to build the circuit board for his design from scratch rather than continuing to work with the existent model. He added pliers to the pile of tools accumulating above the toolbox he was searching through. Shaking his head at the tangled pile of tools filling the bin, he made a plan to ask Jemma to help him reorganize the mechanical and electrical tools. A simple look at these power tools haphazardly stashed alongside their nonelectric counterparts would certainly horrify Jemma, and she wouldn’t be able to resist establishing a permanent organizational system to promote long term lab efficiency and safety.

He flinched as a deep voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Turbo, what’s got you in such a good mood today?”

Fitz turned to face Mack as he began to answer. “Just Simmons.”

“Ah, I’ve heard Agent Simmons is pretty cool. You two were pretty close right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Fitz responded while his eyes flitted back to the toolbox in search of the iron.

“I’ve seen some of the designs you two worked on. Pretty impressive stuff. Are you working on one of those designs today?”

“Uh...no.” Fitz frowned and inched back toward the bin. Mack nodded as his eyebrows furrowed together slightly, but he did not make any further remarks. Seeing as Mack had returned to thinking about work, Fitz turned back to the bin and set a few more tools aside.He grinned widely as his eyes found the soldering iron, and he began to untangle it’s power cord from the surrounding tools. As he pulled the tool out, he continued to glance around the box in a search for the wireless iron, but with no luck, he rose and turned to walk toward the lab.

Arms crossed and face occupied by a look of deliberation, Mack was standing a few feet away staring at the floor. Fitz gave him a nod and hurried back toward his lab bench. He only made it a few feet before a heavy hand on his arm brought him to a halt, and he turned around. His jaw tightened at the delay. With a deep breath, he inquired, “D-did you, uh… uh… need something?”

“Listen, I know you and Agent Simmons were really close. I certainly don’t have her brain, but I’ve got steady hands and I like to think I have a pretty good handle on blueprints and machinery, so if you need an extra set of hands or eyes, just let me know.”

Fitz gave him an appreciative nod. “Thanks. Simmons is p-pretty good at uh … uh g-good at that s-stuff too.”

Before Fitz could turn away, Mack put a hand on his shoulder and continued, “I know you miss Simmons. It’s been hard on all of us since Hydra came out. With all the work around here, I wish she hadn’t left. I checked in with Coulson this morning while I was giving him my report on the vehicles. He couldn’t say when she would be back , but he did say that we shouldn’t count on it for a while. It sucks. But, I was thinking you and I could partner up on some of this stuff Coulson was asking me to look at. Seems like it’s right up you alley.”

“W-what? But, J-Jemma…” He was at a loss for words, and, for the first time in a while, it didn’t seem to be from his aphasia. His eyes widened in shock and began stumbling back toward the lab. He heard Mack’s footsteps following him. There she was standing at her microscope with her hair pulled back in a tight pony tale, and a smile graced her face as she looked up and caught sight of him.

“Look Turbo, I don’t know what to tell you.” Mack sighed as he stood beside Fitz who had frozen once he caught Jemma’s gaze. “What happened with Hydra was hard on all of us. Our friends died. Our mentors broke our trust. The whole system betrayed us. She probably just needs time to get her head sorted out. Lord knows I could certainly use it. She’ll come back eventually.”

Fitz saw that Mack was now looking at the lab where lab techs were shuffling around in disarray. Even three months into their stay at the Playground the scientists remained hesitant to form relationships with their new colleagues. Since the Hydra attacks, trust had become a rare commodity, and the lab’s efficiency was clearly hindered by the disconnection among the scientists. Once a well oiled machine, SHIELD was now cobbled together with a random assortment of scavenged pieces and parts that didn’t quite fit together.

He looked from Mack to Jemma and to Mack once more. With another sigh, Mack looked back at Fitz. “I j-just…” The words quietly tumbled out of his mouth as Fitz ran his good hand over his bad hand in a massaging movement. He was a rocket scientist, yet he couldn’t seem to fathom the simple discussion he and Mack were having. It wasn’t possible. Jemma had been directly in Mack’s line of sight, yet he acted as though he hadn’t seen her. Mack’s discussion with Coulson muddled the facts even further.

Jemma stepped away from the lab bench and walked toward the corner of the lab he was standing in. Mack was still looking at him as he waited for Fitz’s response. The quick clicking of Jemma’s shoes on the lab floor ceased as she came to a stop right in front of them. Her words were a mix of cheer and nervous energy. “Fitz, is everything alright?”

“Yeah.” He answered quickly and waved his hand to dismiss her concern. Mack’s eyebrows narrowed and his mouth shifted into a frown as he looked toward Jemma. Fitz noticed that while Mack’s eyes had followed Fitz’s gesture, they were searching a spot to her left without settling on any particular thing. He took a step back as the realization suddenly hit him – Jemma wasn’t there. And if Jemma wasn’t truly there, then the figure in front of him must be his own mind’s creation. As if his mind wasn’t already broken enough, he was hallucinating now too, and Simmons wasn’t even here to help him deal with it.

“S-sorry. Uh… it’s… um… it’s j-just hard. Thanks. I need to f-f… uh get something done. T-talk tomorrow?” Fitz stuttered out as he backed toward the door of the lab and resisted his body’s urge to drop to the ground. He held his breath to avoid the hyperventilation his lungs desired.

“Yeah. Take your time man.” Mack gave him a nod and turned to walk back toward the tools.

With a few long strides, Fitz reached the lab bench he had spent the morning working at. Piling the mechanism, scattered parts, and soldering iron into the small toolbox resting on the edge of the table, he walked out the door without looking back at the figment of Jemma. Once he passed the transparent panes that made up the lab’s walls, Fitz quickened his pace into an uncoordinated cross between speed-walking and jogging as he sought the only place that would allow him to continue his work without the threat of prying eyes.

Gaze focused on the ground a few feet ahead, his mind didn’t even register the few agents he passed on the way to the bus. Though it was no longer in disrepair, the bus was in disuse. While Fitz was recovering from the most severe effects of his hypoxia, Coulson had assigned mechanics and engineers to repair the bus. As far as Fitz could tell, they had done a reasonably good job repairing the overall structure of the Bus and most of its functionalities. However, the cloaking mechanism was destroyed during the conflicts with Hydra and Garret, and not a single scientist or technician on the base had the knowledge to create a cloaking mechanism from scratch. Skye had sifted through the SHIELD design records to no avail, and Coulson declared the cloaking designs as among the many crucial records lost to HYDRA.

Without a functional cloaking mechanism, Coulson wasn’t willing to risk such a valuable asset. With the future in mind, Coulson had asked the mechanics to perform one last task – transforming the lab space into a garage with a mechanics bay equipped for high-tech engineering and technology analysis. Since the construction of the garage concluded, the plane sat alone and unused.

A wall of stale air assaulted Fitz’s nose as the ramp descended. He made his way into body of the bus and picked up the tablet sitting on the bench. At a surface level, the tablet seemed no different than the tablets he had used to operate the lab equipment, store analysis, and control the electronics and avionics only months before. Fitz shook out his hand and swiped through a few screens before punching in the codes to close the ramp.

Fitz stood in the middle of the garage. In some ways it was like they had removed all that was Jemma from the lab and left behind Fitz. It was both a comforting and disturbing thought. The shiny white lab had been replaced by sharp edges and a harsh, metallic grey that painted over the cheer and positivity Jemma had always filled the lab with. Places that previously housed chemical and biological stores now held an assortment of tools. The lab where he made so many cherished memories had been erased, yet he was thankful.

The facts were apparent. Simmons left. Simmons lied. Simmons no longer wanted him around. His treacherous mind might still conjure Jemma, but this figment of Jemma who seemed to care wasn’t the Dr. Jemma Simmons he knew. The Bus wasn’t just an escape from other people. It was an escape from Jemma in that her very essence had been forcibly removed from the place. And, it was an escape from the wanting, the longing, and the desire that would never be fulfilled.

Looking back on it, he wasn’t sure he had ever really gotten past the feelings he had for Simmons during his days at the Academy, but he had buried them beneath the surface for a long time. He had buried them through years of boyfriends and through living with her while they worked at sci-ops. Then she tried to jumped from the bus to her almost-death, and, in just seconds, all of those feelings were unearthed, polished, and put on display for the world to see.

Fitz set the toolbox on the nearest clean counter top. His reflection glistened up at him from the metallic surface of the workbench. He rolled out a mat and began slowly unpacking his tools with relatively steady hands. Realizing he had forgotten to pack his safety goggles, he sighed and shook his head. Before searching for the goggles, he refocused his attention on the circuit board in front of him. With just a glance, his mind transformed the scattered components into a dynamic and complex system of power flows and resistance.

Times like this, where hands and words were unnecessary, offered a brief illusion of comfort and stability that was erased as soon as he needed to turn these images of interconnected parts into reality. There were only two options to translate designs from his head to the real world inventions – building them himself or telling someone else how to build them. He felt a brief pull toward the door as he considered leaving the tools and circuit components untouched on the workbench, but instead began searching for safety goggles.

Without thinking, his feet carried through the empty garage him toward the area where he and Simmons had stored the extra safety goggles when the garage had still been their lab. The action commenced without note until Fitz found himself staring at a cabinet full of power tools and drill bits instead of safety goggles and spare lab coats.

As turbulent emotions tried to crawl to the front of his mind, he couldn’t tell if time had frozen for a second or if a few seconds had dragged on for hours. He retraced his steps, and realized he was retracing his steps from countless days before. A few seconds ago, he was listening to the echo of his own footsteps breaking the silence of the empty, dim, metallic garage. And, a few seconds ago, he was listening to the steady beep of machines running laboratory tests on mysterious substances and the occasional alert from the computers running complex simulations as he walked through the sterile, white lab to grab a pair of lab goggles as Jemma prepared chemicals for their next experiment.

Feet frozen in place, Fitz stared straight ahead at the cabinet. He was in the one location on base where Jemma’s presence had been forcibly erased, yet he felt like he was walking through their shared memories instead of this empty place.

“Maybe look in the drawers. It only made sense to keep the safety goggles in such a large storage space when we also had lab coats to store with them.” The British voice explained from behind him. Fitz didn’t turn around. He reminded himself he was alone in the lab, and inhaled sharply as he corrected the lab to the garage.

Alone. He was alone. She wasn’t here. She used to be here. They used to be here together. This used to be their place, but it wasn’t anymore. It wasn’t her place, and it wasn’t his place either. Now it was just a place. An empty place.

“Why don’t you find some lab goggles and get back to work on the circuit. Looks like it’s going well so far. You were going to solder on these parts next, right?” The voice encouraged.

Fitz felt his whole body begin to tremble. Turning on his heels, he hurried out of the room without giving a single look back at the tools and circuit board even as he heard a few of the components clatter to the ground in his rush to escape the bus.

His mind felt removed from his body as he carried himself through the halls of the base toward his bunk. He scanned his ID and punched in his passcode with shaking hands, but was greeted with an aggressive beep that interrupted his train of thought. Groaning, he pulled his hands down to his sides and forced them to be still. Though his entire body was still trembling, he managed to calm his good hand enough to push the six numbers that stood between him and comfort.

Anger, bitterness, sadness, desire, and love swirled around his mind as they fueled snapshots of memories. Sadness had long edged its way in as a symptom of fears that Jemma didn’t and would never return his feelings. The anger and bitterness were new and stemmed not from fear, or even knowledge, of unrequited feelings, but rather from abandonment.

There was also jealousy. He was jealous that she could turn it all off. She could leave him behind and forget him, yet, even when she was already gone, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Instead, his own mind was speaking to him through a figment of her. The thought was a punch to the gut. In retaliation, he knocked down the picture frame holding the picture of he and Simmons in smiling during the mission to Peru. Their smiling, curious faces were now surrounded by broken glass instead of hope.

Climbing into his bed, he wrapped himself in the weighted blanket the doctors had recommended. His eyes wandered to the poster of space on his wall. It was a new poster. The original one had been destroyed in the chaos of Hydra’s attack. The Hydra goons had ripped his posters from his walls, tossed belongings off his desk, and poured the contents of his drawers onto the floor as they laid waste to the plane in search of coveted SHIELD technologies. Some things had survived and some things hadn’t. From people to places to possessions, the same could be said about anything SHIELD related in the wake of HYDRA.

Before Fitz was released from the medical bay, Jemma had decorated his new bunk with his remaining intact belongings. She never said it directly, but he knew she had found and hung up the new space poster. Simmons knew him better than anyone else. She knew how he found a sense of peace in the space poster, and she knew it reminded him of stargazing with his mom, which was the only science related hobby they had been able to share.

Her presence was here in his room just like it was everywhere else on base. Until today, he hadn’t minded the constant reminders because a part of him always thought she would be back soon. She was gone, but she was here. He loved her, and he was furious at her.

At the same time, he was furious at himself for still loving her. Love. That’s what it was, and there was really no point in denying it. The betrayal and abandonment couldn’t change his feelings for her, but they could make them more painful. She left. She lied. She didn’t accept him. Now that he was different, being around him was so undesirable, she felt the need to leave the entire base. She knew he needed her, and she left anyway. She didn’t care.

“I care. You know I do.” As soon as her tone rang out, he turned into his pillow and pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

Whether it was feelings of love or friendship, he couldn’t escape it. There was always something there to remind him. She had understood him better than anyone else he ever met, and that relationship of mutual understanding had somehow become a part of the world around him even when she wasn’t there. In the end it was simple. He missed her, and he wasn’t sure he would ever stop missing her.

“Oh, Fitz. You know I miss you too.”


	3. "I was born to love her..."

_After Season 2 Episode 10_

The return from the underground city was marked by a solemn silence. The calm was tenuous as the full weight of reality sat on one side of a thin glass pane that was ready to shatter. Even delivered in hushed tones, each necessary communication cut through the quiet and seemed to create spiderwebs of microscopic cracks on the fragile sangfroid.

Simmons had remained in Puerto Rico to run more tests at Coulson’s behest. Though a handful of lab technicians and several armed agents had been assigned to assist with the efforts to analyze and collapse the remaining temple structures, Simmons was the only member of Coulson’s high level operations team to remain behind. Her absence was tangible.

Only a few hours before, Fitz had held Jemma as the world had shaken apart around them. The way he had held her then was instinctual. It hadn’t required forethought. The urge to hold her now was different. It also felt natural, as though he couldn’t control it, but now he had time to think about it. She cared about Trip, and now he was gone. Fitz wanted to hold her and be whatever she needed while she processed her grief and sorrow.

When the plane landed, Mack and Skye were escorted from the medical pod to quarantine. With medics and lab techs swarming around Mack and Skye, Fitz decided to visit them later and retreated to his room.

Sitting on his bed, he felt Jemma’s absence in a different way. It took him back to the Academy where he and Jemma would sit on the couch or the bed and work through life’s challenges. For a talk to a cry to a venting session, they were always there for each other. Sometimes it was for a bad exam grade. Sometimes it was for a bad break up. A pang of guilt struck Fitz at that last thought as he recalled how jealous he had been of the easy, flirty relationship between Trip and Simmons.

Some nights ended in pints of ice cream and soppy movies while other nights ended in a long cry and a comforting embrace. As distant as he and Jemma had been lately, he wanted, more than anything, to offer that comforting embrace. He wouldn’t offer it with any sort of expectation. They could go back to vitriolic silence the next day, and he would still want to offer her whatever comfort he could provide. It just felt right.

_After Season 2 Episode 14_

Fitz knew leaving the lab was off the table before the plane even landed during the return from the underground city. Initially, optimism framed this realization as Fitz hoped it would pave the way for he and Jemma to continue to fall back in step with one another as they had in the tunnels of San Juan. Jemma’s aggressive stance on gifted individuals had put a damper on his hopes, but it was his own decision to hide Skye’s abilities that crushed them. At the time, he knew she would find out, and now that she had, he was living through the devastation.

Their awkward dance of discomfort and, on his part, bitterness had evolved into snipes and skirmishes building up to a war. His mind oscillated back and forth as he debated whether he had finally gone far enough or finally taken it too far. He had been honest when he told her that her own behavior was the scariest change.

Once, she was the person who convinced him to go out and travel the world with Coulson and the team. Even before that, she was the person who convinced him to actually dance in the boiler room and to try buffalo mozzarella cheese. No, he hadn’t enjoyed all of the new things Jemma made him try, but without her encouragement to try new things and embrace some change, he doubted he would have nearly as many fond memories. Now, the force of change and excitement in his life was cowering and lashing out at the mere concept of novelty. And, after a year of experiencing more change than the rest of his life combined, her fear driven aggression was by far the most alarming because, as angry as he was at her for her actions and behaviors, she was still the most important person to him through it all.

Fitz looked up from his work and glanced at where Simmons was working on the opposite side of the lab. Her shoulders were slouched and she closed her eyes for a few seconds as she paused her note taking. As caught up in their argument as he had been, Fitz hadn’t failed to notice the dark circles peaking through her normally pristine makeup. He may disagree with her stance on Skye and other gifted individuals, but he couldn’t deny that she had been working nonstop to do what she believed would help Skye. Fitz thought they had one thing they could agree on – fighting with someone you care about is tiring, but it’s the caring that is more exhausting than the fight.

Fitz adjusted a few of the parameters in the simulation he was running, and, satisfied with the day’s progress, gave one last look at Simmons and left the lab. In the kitchen, he fixed himself a cup of chamomile tea. Standing behind the couches in the common room, he sipped his tea and watched the football match Hunter had put on the TV. He let himself get caught up in the match, and continued watching for several minutes after he finished his tea. When a yawn came over him, Fitz walked to his room and readied himself for bed.

In the days after the med pod, sleep had been a blessing and a curse. It was the only thing that helped him feel better after the grueling days of therapy, yet it came with the nasty side effect of vivid nightmares. In the early days, it was common place to wake up in a cold sweat breathing heavily as he drank in the oxygen that had been missing in his flooded dreams. Now, those dreams, of which there were several renditions, were rare.

However, a new nightmare had joined the lineup in the time since the events at the underground city, and this dream was playing on repeat. Though small details changed, the basic premise of the dream was the same each time. A good distraction before bed seemed to help prevent the nightmare sometimes. Still, each night as he felt himself drift off, a voice in the back of his mind begged the nightmares not to come.

\---

The cavernous hole in the center of the room stared back at Fitz as he worked with Coulson and Bobbi to pull Mack up from the mysterious depths. His adrenaline was pumping as his mind ran through a hundred catastrophic scenarios about the state of his friend. Relief washed over him as they managed to pull Mack out of the hole, but this relief was quickly replaced by terror as he met Mack’s eyes, now entirely filled with black.

Fitz scrambled back toward the safety of the dusty rock walls and watched as Bobbi, Coulson, and Mack parried around the deadly drop. His heart was racing and his hands were shaking, but he managed to throw the ICER to Coulson. Mack continued to attack his fellow agents with unrefined swings that were based in power rather than finesse. The ICER bullets hit Mack’s body, yet Mack kept coming at them like a tank. Within seconds Coulson was flying into the nearest wall.

Fitz was frozen. He saw Jemma behind Mack, and he opened his mouth to shout at her to move away. Somehow no words came out, and when he tried to run toward her, his feet remained rooted in place. Suddenly, everything slowed down. With a decisive movement, Mack knocked Jemma backwards. Now, Fitz’s words returned to him, and he heard himself screaming her name.

Jemma’s body tumbled away from Mack, and just as she began slipping over the edge of the hole, the invisible chain holding Fitz’s feet in place broke. He ran toward her reaching the edge just as her hands gripped at the slippery, dust covered edge of the whole. Unable to find anything to hold onto, the weight of her body pulled her into the hole. By the time Fitz extended his hand, she was just out of his reach. He was still calling her name as she fell into the darkness.

Fitz woke up to the echo of a thud that he knew came from his dreams rather than the world around him. His body was shaking, and his limbs were tangled in the sheets while the blanket had been thrown off the bed entirely. A cold sheen of sweat covered his body, and he shivered. From previous experience, he knew trying to go back to sleep immediately would be a fruitless effort. Instead, he picked his blanket up, wrapped himself in it, and pulled up one of his favorite Doctor Who episodes on his laptop.

_After Season 2 Episode 16_

Sunlight peaked through the deep red curtains with an orange glow. The bright green numbers of the alarm clock illuminated the time – 10:48. Fitz groaned as he rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow. His muscles ached from the stiffness of a motionless sleep, but he felt well-rested. The Real SHIELD ordeal was the newest addition to the long list of betrayal Fitz had experienced in the past year. He had left only yesterday, but it was already so freeing. A quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered that he would soon have to put his plan into action to help Coulson, but for now, SHIELD’s tail could follow him around while he lived a perfectly normal life.

After blinking away the remaining sleep, his eyes drifted to the slip of paper on the night stand. “Prosciutto & Mozzarella. Be safe! Love, Jemma”. He and Jemma were the furthest apart they had been since her time in HYDRA, yet he felt closer to her than he had in a long time. He could still feel the wave of surprise, hope, and comfort that had washed over him when Jemma reached for his hand during the Real SHIELD invasion.

He put the slip of paper in his wallet and climbed out of bed. Stretching his arms over his head, he made his way over to his bag and dumped the contents on his bed. More exhausted than he could remember feeling since finals week, he had fallen asleep soon after checking into the hotel before. There wasn’t one particular thing that could really explain the exhaustion, but it could reasonably be chalked up to the culmination of months of stress and insufficient sleep.

An assortment of trousers, shirts, cardigans, and undergarments tumbled onto the bed alongside toiletries, a few knickknacks, a picture of him and Jemma, and his poster of space. He quickly noticed some of the articles differed from the ones he had packed the day before. Fear shot through him at the sudden worry that this Real SHIELD group had exchanged the clothes to plant more bugs and trackers on him as though the current tail wasn’t enough. A few seconds after the initial shock, Fitz recognized the unexpected Academy t-shirt and cardigans as gifts from Jemma.

Muscles he hadn’t realized he was clenching relaxed as his mind journeyed back to simpler times. The scent of freshly brewed, authentic British tea filled infiltrated his senses as all-night problem sets and Doctor Who marathons swam into view painted with bright colors and vivid detail.

\---

The first day of classes at the Academy had been filed away into the overwhelming category in his brain until a month later when he and Jemma had their first real conversation. The electricity in the air went beyond the topic of discussion – dielectric polarization – and he knew that Jemma had already made a mark on his life. Listening to her words felt like reading a favorite book – comfortable and familiar yet endlessly exciting.

At the conclusion of that conversation, the memories of his first day of classes at the Academy were refiled into an area of special memories that, nowadays, could aptly be named memories of his mom and Jemma. Though he hadn’t spoken to her that first day, the first time he saw her still replayed in his mind with the clarity of a motion picture.

His first class should have been the engineering class for new recruits, but, in a feat rare even among the genius SHIELD recruits, he had placed out of not only that class but several other lower-level engineering classes. While his unique schedule placed him into classes where he would have to intrude on an already established camaraderie, it also meant he did not have any 8 AM classes.

Fitz managed to drag himself out of bed early enough to not only look presentable for his first ever SHIELD class, but he also managed to arrive a prompt ten minutes before class was set to begin. SHIELD History was his only scheduled class that would contain all first year students, and, though he was used to feeling out of place and isolated from peers, he forced himself to sit in the middle of the lecture hall instead of taking up residence in one of the back-most rows.

There were already at least twenty other students in the lecture hall when he walked in. While a few lingered in the aisles with idle small talk, most of the early students had already taken their seats. Pods of two or three students sat scattered throughout the room. Upon entering the room, Fitz had scanned the students, but as soon as the door opened behind him to let in another student, he made for a random open seat in the middle of the room.

The student, a young woman, who had walked in behind him continued past his row to a row only three rows back from the front. She sat beside a group of a few other students and seemed to be gesturing emphatically about something, which made the other students laugh. The man next to her nudged her shoulder and seemed to make some sort of remark that made her smile. A pang of jealousy rushed through him. He could have sat with the group and met that girl and her friends. He could be joking and listening to what they all had to say.

Fitz shook his head and muttered under his breath “Probably don’t have anything interesting to say anyway.” Looking at his watch, Fitz sighed upon seeing that there were still seven minutes remaining until class started. A few more people had trickled in, but none chose to sit anywhere near him. He glanced down at the girl and her friends again.

The girl definitely looked younger than the average recruit. He had gotten a good glimpse of her when she had walked past. She wore a simple purple-tinged, maroon jumper over a white collared shirt with dark blue jeans that contoured to her legs and black ankle boots that had a low heel. From where he was sitting, her chocolate colored hair fell in waves to just past her shoulders. As she was talking she pushed shorter strands near her face to behind her ears, though this never seemed to hold the hair back for long. He would have been hard pressed to describe the friends she was talking to as the girl’s winsome looks held his attention.

Fitz felt as though something was nudging him to talk to the girl and her friends. Just as he was about to stand up and move toward them, a student took a seat a few feet down the row from him, and Fitz’s will to move withered under his nerves.

As students filed in more regularly, Fitz’s focus shifted toward the new arrivals. Some arrived alone, as he had, and then sat by themselves or met up with friends. Others arrived in groups and chattered about professors and rumors about the so called “Boiler Room”. Preoccupied by the rush of students followed by the start of Professor Vaughn’s lecture, his attention didn’t return to the girl and her friends until he identified her as the source of a pretty British voice that reminded him of home as she answered Professor Vaughn’s first question.

“Peggy Carter, a British code breaker, espionage agent, and SSR operative, transformed the SSR into the origins of the SHIELD we know today.”

“Well done Doctor...” Professor Vaughn trailed off giving her a chance to introduce herself.

“Jemma Simmons.” The girl answered, voice ringing out confidently in the quiet classroom.

Though he didn’t truly meet Jemma Simmons until a month later, she had piqued his curiosity far more than anything he heard in any of in his new classes that each focused on topics his entire MIT education barely touched. A month later they met, and a month after that “Fitzsimmons” was ubiquitous across the Academy.

\---

Shaking off his reminiscence, Fitz grabbed the Academy t-shirt, a pair of pajama pants, and undergarments and headed toward the bathroom. Once he had showered and changed, he grabbed his phone, took the remaining half of his sandwich out of the mini-fridge, and climbed back onto the bed. He needed to get in contact with Coulson, but to do that he needed to shake the SHIELD tail. If he acted now, SHIELD was more likely to notice, and, at the moment, he just didn’t have the energy for it.

Fitz unrolled the space poster that was still laying at the bottom of the bed and leaned it against the wall behind the bedside table. He also set up the picture frame that held he and Jemma’s smiling faces after their mission in Peru. Leaning back, he grabbed the remote from the bedside table and rented an episode of Doctor Who. He smiled as he took a bite of the delicious sandwich. With Doctor Who playing and his favorite sandwich in hand, there was only one thing missing, and it wasn’t science or SHIELD. The picture frame beside him offered only an inky proxy for the smile he missed more than anything in the world.


End file.
